DESPERATE FUGITIVE, By Auditor

Running, my god it seemed like he had been running for days! Stopping for a moment, the man slumped against the trunk of a tree. He was, he figured, at least fifteen miles from the site of the accident; good but

not good enough. He knew the police had probably already reached the site of the accident and dumb as

they were, it wouldn't take them long to figure out that he had escaped; if the pursuit hadn't already started, it wouldn't be long till it did. Pushing himself up from the ground, the man stretched his aching legs and

rubbed his hands together vigorously, blowing into them to help warm them up some.

"Damned cuffs!" he swore bitterly looking down at the chafe marks on his wrists. He looked back along the route he had traversed. He had made it as difficult as he could for the cops to trail him, crisscrossing his own trail several times and immersing himself in every stream along the way to keep the dogs from finding his scent. Satisfied that he had done all he could to confuse his trail, the man dragged a downed branch over the spot he had occupied next to the tree and took off at a light trot further into the forest.

Daybreak. Lying still the man listened carefully to the forest; nothing, not a sound, no dogs howling, no sounds of pursuit. He was now, near as he could figure, twenty five miles or so into the wilderness; twenty five miles into the middle of nowhere. Rising from the ground the man set about to the task of covering up the evidence of his presence, carefully spreading out the leaves that had served as his blanket and pillow during the night. Again he took a minute or two after he had finished to listen to the sounds of the forest.

He really had no idea where he was gonna go, only that it wasn't gonna be anywhere that the cops might think of looking. And looking they would be; the loss of a convicted killer was not the sort of headline that a county sheriff wants to see in the papers, especially during an election year.

It was shortly after noon when the man reached the narrow country road. Crouched in the undergrowth and brush near the roadside the fugitive studied the road and surrounding area carefully. For nearly an hour he rested and watched; not a thing! not one single car! Satisfied of his relative safety, the man slowly and cautiously moved to the side of the road; still nothing. With a quick burst of speed he darted across the road and dove into the brush at the opposite side. Rolling to his stomach he crawled back to the edge of the brush, his eyes searching up and down the road for any signs of activity. He was just about to rise up when he saw it. It was a car and it was moving at a pretty good clip down the road towards him. He dropped his head down into the dirt and watched.

He recognized the light-bar across the top of the car immediately, his heart sank some; a rock formed in the pit of his stomach. The sheriff's car started to slow down some as it approached the spot he had crossed at.

Then he noticed it...a small piece of orange cloth caught up in the brush near the shoulder. Looking down he noticed the hole in the leg of his jumpsuit. The sheriff's car rolled to a stop. His heart now pounded desperately loud in his ears; mentally he was cursing himself roundly. The driver side door opened and a figure emerged from the police vehicle. He ducked his head low as the female deputy looked around then approached the torn cloth. He doubted that she had radioed anything in yet but it was certain she'd have the entire sheriff's department down here in a hurry once she recognized the cloth as a torn piece of a prison jumpsuit. He was going to have to act, and he was going to have to act fast!

The deputy drew her sidearm and walked cautiously towards the piece of cloth; how was he gonna cover the distance to her? The deputy plucked the cloth from the brush and fingered it lightly in her left hand; he began to crawl forward silently, rising as he did so. Reaching down he picked a small the nicely weighted rock from the ground. The deputy holstered her pistol and reaching down to her belt cued her radio.

He broke from cover holding the rock in his right hand and running as fast as he could; the deputy wheeled around at the sudden commotion, her hand dropping to her holstered pistol. The fugitive killer whipped the rock as hard as he could at her as he closed the gap between them. The deputy ducked down instinctively, but the move set her off balance slightly and she raised her hand from her holster to keep herself from crashing into a tree. The wanted killer launched himself the remaining distance, colliding with her before she could right herself. They went down in a tangle of legs and arms into the underbrush. The fight was fast and furious before he finally was able to pin her arms down. But then just as suddenly as he thought he had her under control, the deputy brought her knees up hard into his back knocking him off her. She turned and rolled to her knees just as he tackled her again. With a free hand he punched her hard in the side of the head.

The deputy reeled under the blow, but still had the presence of mind to knee him in the side.

Then he saw the pistol, it had fallen free of her holster and lay just on the other side of her; he struggled atop her as he reached for it. The deputy figured out immediately what had happened and rolled over onto the pistol as much as she could, her one free hand grabbed the hair at the back of his head and pulled hard.

The man grunted hard in pain, his hand reaching the butt end of the pistol. The deputy rolled on her hip and buried his hand under her as much as possible while she yanked even harder on his hair.

Finally with the momentum of the move, the man slid the rest of the way off her; losing his hold of the pistol as well. The killer grabbed for her shirt, tearing it from her shoulder to reveal a very ample bosom, but also causing her to fall onto her back. With utter desperation, the deputy clawed his eyes and brought her knee up into his stomach. He jerked his head back and grimaced in pain as her knee connected; barely was he able to keep hold of her uniform shirt. The deputy frantically searched the ground with her free hand as he began to worm he way on top of her; her hand came across the handle of her nightstick and grasping hold of it, she swung an unaimed blow at him. All he saw was stars for an instant after the blow hit and he slumped forward onto her. She lay there, her exposed chest heaving, her raven hair totally disheveled; then with a sudden heave she pushed him off of her and got to her knees. Reaching for her handcuffs with one hand, she reached with her other hand to grab one of his wrists. The move was sudden and unexpected as he twisted his wrist, grabbing her wrist in return and pulling her over on top of him. So completely caught off-guard by the move was the deputy that she fell right across his body; he rolled his hip hard and completely throwing her off of him. He wasted no time scrambling on top of her; his one hand locked around her throat. The deputy fought back just as hard clawing and hitting him. The anger in him grew and suddenly he found both hands locked around her throat. Her thrashing at him no longer mattered, as his hold over her throat grew ever tighter.

The deputy's eyes grew wide and her struggles all but abated after a few minutes; showing no mercy what so ever, the man kept a solid hold on her throat. Soon only gurgling sounds escaped her.

The deputy's hands slowly slid down his arms and flopped to her chest, her eyes speaking only of the unspeakable horror that had overcome her. At long last he released his hold over her, sitting back he just stared into her horrified glare. It was the sound of distant hounds that suddenly brought him out of his revelry; grabbing hold of her arms, he dragged the deputy's body back to her car.

Grabbing the keys from the ignition, he loaded her dead body into the trunk of the car. Reaching into the trunk, the man caressed the woman's face and breasts softly. It was only after the sounds of the hounds closing before he could bring himself to slam the trunk shut. It would be a solid two days before the deputy's car would be found ten feet underwater ten miles from where the attack occurred. As for her murderer...no trace could be found.